


Birthday Pie

by pieandangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieandangels/pseuds/pieandangels





	Birthday Pie

Dean was roused from his lazy afternoon nap by a loud crash. He jerked out of bed, grabbed his shotgun - fully loaded with rock salt shells – from its place on his wall, and stumbled out into the hallway.

“Sammy?” Dean yelled.

“It wasn’t me,” said Sam, appearing at Dean’s side, the demon knife held tight in his hand. “I was in my room reading.”

“I thought Henry said this place was supposed to be impenetrable,” Dean said quietly, eyes narrowing as the two crept down the hallway towards the source of the sound.

“It is,” Sam said. “I’ve checked out the enchantments. You can’t get in without the key.”

“Well, I have the key right here, so what the hell was that?” Dean asked, reaching into his pocket. “Wait, maybe I put it – son of a bitch.”

Sam looked at Dean for a long, disapproving moment. Another crash sent them both into the kitchen, weapons held high. There, surrounded by broken ceramic, a bit of egg drying on his trench coat, stood Castiel.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean asked forcefully.

“I thought it was customary to make a cake on someone’s birthday, but since you don’t like cake, I tried to make a pie,” Castiel explained. Dean fought a smile as he turned to look at his little brother, who rolled his eyes, pushed his hair back, and left the room.

“Cas, you destroyed the whole kitchen,” Dean said.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean felt his chest constrict when the angel’s blue eyes met his.

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, Cas.”

“I know. I have never made pie before, and I didn’t know how long it would take. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I’m pretty surprised. How’d you get in?”

“I stole the key out of your back pocket yesterday,” he confessed.

“Cas, buddy, you have no idea what you’re doing. Let me help. I’ve never made a pie before, but I think I can probably do it without breaking all the bowls.”

“Help would be welcome,” Castiel said.

Dean rolled his green eyes and walked over to the cabinet, grabbing the only bowl that had survived Castiel’s confusion. “What kind of pie are we making?”

“You always talk about wanting an ‘apple pie life,’ so I thought that was your favorite.” When Dean laughed, the angel tilted his head. “Was I wrong?”

“No, Cas. You nailed it.”

Castiel took a step toward Dean, the perpetually quizzical tilt to his eyebrows even more pronounced than usual. Not quite conscious of what he was doing, Dean reached up and wiped a bit of flour off Castiel’s cheek with his thumb. They stayed like that for a long moment, then Dean dropped his hand and cleared his throat, shifting his weight to the other foot.

“Do you have a recipe?”

Castiel nodded and pointed to a crumpled piece of paper on the granite countertop. Dean picked it up and looked it over.

“Okay, this isn’t too bad. Can you hand me two eggs? I’ll show you how too crack them without splattering it everywhere.” Castiel did as he was told, and soon enough Dean had created a thick ball of dough at the bottom of the bowl.

“Now we add the apples, right?” Castiel asked.

“No. We have to roll out the dough and put it in a pie tin first. Hand me the flour. We’re going to spread it over the counter so the dough won’t stick.”

As Castiel was passing Dean the flour, his foot slipped on an apple he had knocked to the floor earlier. His ankle twisted, and the flour slipped out of his hands and to the floor, where it exploded, sending thick white powder in every direction.

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean yelled.

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” Castiel repeated. The dust settled, and Dean’s eyes rested on the man sitting on the floor at his feet, flour dyeing his dark hair white. Laughing, Dean reached out a hand to help the angel to his feet.

“You didn’t ruin anything. Come on, we’ll go buy a pie instead. Homemade is for chicks.”

“I don’t understand why preparing food is feminine, but I will come with you regardless.” Castiel brushed a bit of flour of his trench coat and looked expectantly at Dean. Without thinking, the hunter closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Castiel’s.

“What was that?” Castiel asked.

“It was a kiss, moron.” Dean swung an arm around Castiel’s narrow shoulders and led him out of the kitchen. “Now clean yourself up, and let’s go get that pie.”


End file.
